


Blue Moon

by jibjaneen



Series: Historical AUs [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, F/M, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Rollerblades & Rollerskates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:27:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibjaneen/pseuds/jibjaneen
Summary: Written for la-pou-belle who asked for:"Man this is probably overdone and could get angsty real quick, but mlm/wlw solidarity in the 50s? That greaser aesthetic/poodle skirts/motorcycles... Georgia & Jack look out for eachother in All eras"





	Blue Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this is really short and I've written better things before but I hope you enjoy! I'm aware I could have taken this much deeper and further by diving into the various cultural and social aspects of the 1950s,such as racism, McCarthyism, feminism, youth culture, and the general aesthetic but I also want to go to bed real bad.   
> Title is borrowed from Elvis Presley's Blue Moon, which I thought was from Grease. You learn something new every day. 
> 
>  
> 
> If you have a request for a short historical AU drabble like this, let me know and I'll try my best at writing it!

Jack had always liked hanging out at the local rollerblade rink. The milkshakes were awesome, the burgers were decent, and there was always something entertaining happening. It was also the last place his friends would come looking for him when he wanted to be alone. 

So after a long, long day at school, Jack parked his motorcycle outside, put his helmet away, paid the entrance fee, and sat down at his usual table. From his seat, he had a good view of the rink, where a few spandex clad women were racing around the track, and more importantly, of the bar and kitchen area. It was a Thursday, so he knew exactly who was working today. 

Eric Bittle.  

To say Jack had a little bit of a crush on the blond, tiny, sweet looking boy was an understatement. Sometimes he'd dream about running his fingers through that cowlick, which defied all hairproduct. He'd fantasize about taking him dancing, or just listening to the latest Elvis record together. 

Jack was shaken from thought however, when someone put down a vanilla milkshake and a platter of fries in front of him. He recognized Georgia when she sat down, still clad in spandex and her face paint smudged with sweat. She had taken her roller skates off, and her helmet was resting on the table. 

"You're back again," she commented, "And staring at Eric. Coincidentally." Jack rolled his eyes, picking up a fry. 

"Not so loud," he said, even though he knew there was no way anyone would have overheard. Lowering his voice, he added: "And like you have any right of speaking, with how you look at Natasha." As expected, Georgia immediately shushed him, crossing her arms. 

"Fine, kid," she said, "We both pine after people we can't have. Not why I wanted to talk to you." She took a sip from her own chocolate milkshake. "We're still looking for people to help with the kids this weekend," she continued, "Interested? Eric will be there, and I know you like rollerskating." 

Jack did enjoy skating. Shitty had taken him to an open clinic once- mostly motivated by his crush on one of the girls, as well as something about equality for women and workers. Jack wasn't sure how roller skates tied into communism and women's rights, but he did have fun. It was where he met George- and Eric. 

"Fine," he finally agreed, "I'll be there. Do you want me to bring Shitty?" George shrugged, eyes drifting to the bar behind Jack. Jack followed her gaze, just in time to see Nat press a kiss to Eric's cheek, leaving a bright red lipstickstain on his cheek. 

He tried not to feel too jealous- just like George was doing, judging by her face. Natasha had sat down on a barstool, chatting excitedly to Eric, while putting her hair back into shape and lighting a cigarette. George sighed deeply, Jack giving a hum in solidarity. He picked up a fry, holding it out for her to tap with one of her own.  

"Some day," he simply said, trying not to give in to the always lingering feel of sadness. George smiled bitterly, tapping his fry with her own. 

"Some day," she repeated.


End file.
